smile; “they pushed forward of their own accord.”
“I hear a soldier has been wounded?”
“Yes, it’s a great pity. He’s a good soldier.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously, I believe … in the stomach.”
“And do you know where I am going?” vorontsov asked.
“I don’t.”
“Can’t you guess?”
“No.”
“Hadji Murad has surrendered and we are now going to meet him.”
“You don’t mean to say so?”
“His envoy came to me yesterday,” said Vorontsov, with difficulty repressing a smile of pleasure. “He will be waiting for me at the Shalin glade in a few minutes. Place sharpshooters as far as the glade, and then come and join me.”
“I understand,” said Poltoratsky, lifting his hand to his cap, and rode back to his company. He led the sharp shooters to the right himself, and ordered the seargeant-major to do the same on the left side.
The wounded Avdeev had meanwhile been taken back to the fort by some of the soldiers.
On his way back to rejoin vorontsov, Poltoratsky noticed behind him several horsemen who were overtaking him. In front on a white-maned horse rode a man of imposing appearance. He wore a turban and carried weapons with gold ornaments. This man was Hadji Murad. He approached Poltoratsky and said something to him in Tartar. Raising his eyebrows, Poltoratsky made a gesture with his arms to show that he did not understand, and smiled. Hadji Murad gave him smile for smile, and that smile struck Poltoratsky by its childlike kindliness. Poltoratsky had never expected to see the terrible mountain chief look like that. He had expected to see a morose, hard-featured man, and here was a vivacious person whose smile was so kindly that Poltoratsky felt as if he were an old acquaintance. He had only one peculiarity: his eyes, set wide apart, which gazed from under their black brows calmly, attentively, and penetratingly into the eyes of others.
Hadji Murad’s suit consisted of five men, among them was Khan Mahoma, who had been to see Prince Vorontsov that night. He was a rosy, round-faced fellow with black lashless eyes and a beaming expression, full of the joy of life. Then there was the Avar Khanefi, a thick-set, hairy man, whose eyebrows met. He was in charge of all Hadji Murad’s property and led a stud-bred horse which carried tightly packed saddle bags. Two men of the suite were particularly striking. The first was a Lesghian: a youth, broad-shouldered but with a waist as slim as a woman’s, beautiful ram-like eyes, and the beginnings of a brown beard. This was Eldar. The other, Gamzalo, was a Chechen with a short red beard and no eyebrows or eyelashes; he was blind in one eye and had a scar across his nose and face. Poltoratsky pointed out Vorontsov, who had just appeared on the road. Hadji Murad rode to meet him, and putting his right hand on his heart said something in Tartar and stopped. The Chechen interpreter translated.
“He says, I surrender myself to the will of the Russian Tsar. I wish to serve him,’ he says. I wished to so do long ago but Shamil would not let me.’”
Having heard what the interpreter said, Vorontsov stretched out his hand in its wash-leather glove to Hadji Murad. Hadji Murad looked at it hestitatingly for a moment and then pressed it firmly, again saying something and looking first at the interpreter and then at Vorontsov.
“He says he did not wish to surrender to any one but you, as you are the son of the Sirdar and he respects you much.”
Vorontsov nodded to express his thanks. Hadji Murad again said something, pointing to his suite.
“He says that these men, his henchmen, will serve the Russians as well as he.”
Vorontsov turned towards then and nodded to them too. The merry, black-eyed, lashless Chechen, Khan Mahoma, also nodded and said something which was probably amusing, for the hairy Avar drew his lips into a smile, showing his ivory-white teeth. But the red-haired Gamzalo’s one red eye just glanced at Vorontsov and then was again fixed on the ears of his horse.
When Vorontsov and Hadji Murad with their retinues rode back to the fort the soldiers released form the lines gathered in groups and made their own comments.
“What a lot of men that damned fellow has destroyed! And now see what a fuss they will make of him!”
“Naturally. He was Shamil’s right hand, and now – no fear!”
“Still there’s no denying it! he’s a fine fellow – a regular djhigit11!”
“And the red one! He squints at you like a beast!”
“Ugh! He must be a hound!”
They had all specially noticed the red one. Where the wood-felling was going on the soldiers nearest to the road ran out to look. Their officer shouted to them, but Vorontsov stopped him.
“Let them have a look at their old friend.”
“You know who that is?” he added, turning to the nearest soldier, and speaking the words slowly with his English accent.
“No, your Excellency.”
“Hadji Murad… . Heard of him?”
“How could we help it, your Excellency? We’ve beaten him many a time!”
“Yes, and we’ve had it hot from him too.”
“Yes, that’s true, your Excellency,” answered the soldier, pleased to be talking with his chief.
Hadji Murad understood that they were speaking about him, and smiled brightly with his eyes.
Vornotsov returned to the fort in a very cheerful mood.
Chapter VI
Young Vorontsov was much pleased that it was he, and no one else, who had succeeded in winning over and receiving Hadji Murad – next to Shamil Russia’s chief and most active enemy. There was only one unpleasant thing about it: General Meller-Zakomelsky was in command of the army at Vozdvizhenski, and the whole affair ought to have been carried out through him. As Vorontsov had done everything himself without reporting it there might be some unpleasantness, and this thought rather interfered with his satisfaction. On reaching his house he entrusted Hadji Murad’s henchmen to the regimental adjutant and himself showed Hadji Murad into the house.
Princess Marya Vasilevna, elegantly dressed and smiling, and her little son, a handsome curly-headed child of six, met Hadji Murad in the drawing room. The latter placed his hands on his heart, and through the interpreter – who had entered with him – said with solemnity that he regarded himself as the prince’s kunak, since the prince had brought him into his own house; and that a kunak’s whole family was as sacred as the kunak himself.
Hadji Murad’s appearance and manners pleased Marya Vasilevna, and the fact that he flushed when she held out her large white hand to him inclined her still more in his favor. She invited him to sit down, and having asked him whether he drank coffee, had some served. He, however, declined it when it came. He understood a little Russian but could not speak it. When something was said which he could not understand he smiled, and his smile pleased Marya Vasilevna just as it had pleased Poltoratsky. The curly-haired,
djhigit – the same as a brave among American Indians, but the word is inseparably connected with the idea of skilful horsemanship
